


My Home And My English Rose

by jwdish98



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Because everyone needs more Ziall in their lives, Established Relationship, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Musician Harry, Some side Ziall is mentioned, Teacher Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwdish98/pseuds/jwdish98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis live a quiet, peaceful life together. They have a small home in a small town, Louis teaches drama at a secondary school, and Harry works at a bookstore and plays at the local pub a few nights a week.</p>
<p>Everything is uncomplicated, perfect, even, until Harry gets an offer to become a famous musician if he goes to Nashville. </p>
<p>Louis supports him, as always, with his decision to go and make it big, but it’s never as easy as it seems.</p>
<p>(or an au based off of ed sheeran's english rose)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Home And My English Rose

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone~  
> most of my notes are at the end if you're looking for that stuff.  
> this is just a really quick thank you for clicking on this work, and I hope you enjoy!

Their house isn’t big, really. Harry has always described it as quaint, mostly because he really likes the word quaint. Whenever he hears it, he pictures lovely things, and their house, their home, is just that-- a lovely thing. It’s a size that's big enough for the two of them, but small enough that it feels cozy.

Still, Harry manages to lose Louis in it constantly. He isn’t sure if that's because Louis is brilliant at disappearing when he wants to, or if Louis is just incapable of staying still for too long. Then again, Harry doubts he’d ever really know.

It's one of the many mysteries of Louis, and he would never dare complain about a single one of them.

“Lou? Babe, where did you go?”

Louis’ voice calls back, “I’m in bed, Hazza!” Small spurts of giggles follow the words, and Harry’s stomach is in knots.

God, Louis is _so_ lovely.

Harry slumps against the doorway to their room as soon as he reaches it and spends a long moment staring at Louis. He looks small and soft, curled up amongst the mountain of pillows they’d collected over the four years they’d lived together, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” he mutters, swooping in to press a kiss to Louis’ lips.

The kiss is warm, and feels like the pleasant pressure of _I’m here_. It's a reminder of home, kissing Louis, and Harry could probably wax lyrical nonsense about it for the rest of his days.

“Hey yourself,” Louis retorts eloquently. Harry snorts. “Don’t laugh at me, Harold. I’m grading papers and making lesson plans and _working_. What do you do, huh? You can only laugh when you start pulling your own weight around here.”

It would sound rude to most people, Harry figures, but it's their running joking, of sorts. They’d met in a pub when Harry had been performing. After he’d finished, he’d headed over to the bar and had sat down right next to Louis. Within a span of two sentences, Louis had complimented his voice, insulted him for being a starving musician, and had bought him a drink.

Harry had been confused as fuck. And also kind of in awe.

“Excuse you,” Harry declares boldly, reaching out and poking Louis’ nose. “My paycheck is just fine, and as my fiance you’re not allowed to be rude to me.”

Louis cracks a grin, his eyes doing that crinkly-thing that Harry had always loved more than anything. “Shit. I’m fucked, then. I don’t think I know how to be nice to you, love.”

“That’s a lie.” Harry lays back against his pillow, eyes moving to peer up at the beautiful man beside him. “You’ve done some nice things for me today, Lou.”

“Sex doesn’t count.” The sassy words are all that Louis offers, and Harry giggles into his hand. He's been in a relationship with Louis for five years, now, and he still feels like a child with a crush whenever he's around him.

“Of course it does, Lou.” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry pokes his side gently. “Are you coming out to the pub tonight?”

Harry performs in the pub a few blocks away on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday evenings. He doesn’t make a lot of money from it, but it's what he loves to do, and Louis has always supported that. Louis supports him with everything, though, he always has, and Harry knows he could have never found a person more perfect for him than Louis Tomlinson.

Louis moves his papers to the side and slides down so he's curling around Harry’s back, pressing his lips softly to the curls in front of him. “Of course I’m coming, you dumbass. All the lads are coming too, remember? I think Liam’s bringing Sophia too.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry offers, burying his face in his pillow. Louis laughs, his breaths moving Harry’s curls ever so slightly. Harry shudders, a small smile tugging at his lips. Everything about Louis is so warm. He's what makes their house come alive. Louis makes their house a home, and Harry loves him all the more for it. “You sure you’ll be okay with grading all those papers tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis laughs brightly. “I’ll just Skype call Niall and Zayn so we can all cry together or something awful.”

Harry snorts, lips twitching as he notices Louis’ grin. “Or you mean so you and Zayn can cry and yell at Niall for not being a proper teacher with things to grade?”

“Hopefully this time around I’ll be able to end the call before the start striping,” Louis offers, soft giggles leaving him. His body trembles with the force of his laughter, so much so that he's now tickling Harry’s back. “They’re fucking awful, did you know that? Calling each other the most disgusting pet names.” Louis sits up suddenly, then, overtaken by the force of his indignation. He doesn’t seem to care enough to lie back down, even when Harry whines pitifully. “I mean... Who the fuck calls someone leprechaun in bed? What the fuck? And I distinctly remember that Niall said something about Zayn being a symbol of the purest beauty and the inspiration for every love song in the world.”

Harry's most definitely shuddering with laughter, at this point. He adores Zayn and Niall, yes, but there's no denying that they're one of the sappiest couples he’s ever had the pleasure of being around. Then again, it's not like he can really complain. He and Louis are probably just as bad.

He glances at Louis, then, still laughing, and notices how Louis searches his face for his approval and amusement, and then giggles along at his own joke.

Scratch that, they're definitely worse.

“You know we’re just as bad,” Harry mutters.

Louis pouts at him. “At least I don’t call you the inspiration for every love song ever and wax horrible poetry about you. We’re classier than that, babe.”

“I’ve definitely waxed poetry about you before.” Harry grins widely at the pained look on Louis’ face. He sits up, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and rubbing it soothingly along his back. He rubs his fingers lightly down Louis’ spine, feeling each vertebrae carefully. “Drunken poetry, at that.”

An almighty groan leaves Louis and he throws his hands up in the air, although he doesn’t actually seem to be all that annoyed. He's doing his fake-annoyed face, lips pursed up and eyes squinted. It's adorable. “Fuck, you’re the worst. Why do I love you again?”

“I have curly hair,” Harry points out, smirking over at Louis.

The giggles that leave Louis are absolutely worth how ridiculous this conversation is, in Harry's mind. “That you do, my love.”

“I should go soon.” He taps the button on his phone lightly, sighing. “My set starts in a few hours, but they want me to do soundcheck and set up and everything, since I’m the only one playing tonight.”

Louis shoves him so hard that he tumbles off the bed, whining loudly over the sound of Louis’ laughter. “Go, you lazy twat.” Harry raises a hand to flip him off, and that just set Louis off on another round of laughter. “I’ll see you soon, Haz. Just grab your guitar and get your arse to your job already.”

Harry grins, pulling himself upright and moved to change his shirt before he heads off. “Love you too, sweetcheeks.”

“Fuck off, babycakes,” Louis calls after him, and Harry cackles.

He can hear Louis’ laughter in response, ringing in his ears even after he shuts the front door to their home behind him.

_. . ._

The thing that Harry had always loved the most about pub nights is how rowdy the crowd would get, at times. It's honestly rather amusing, as well as an ego-booster, to listen to the drunk regulars sing along to the song he’s written and has performed for years.

It's also really fucking amusing to watch from afar as Niall, Zayn, Liam, and Louis all get steadily more drunk. They progress throughout the night from a fairly normal group of best mates to a couple who can’t keep their hands off of each other, their Resident Straight Friend, and the most obnoxious and adorable cheerleader Harry has ever had the pleasure of having cheer for him. It's honestly kind of the cutest thing ever. Or, well, it's super cute until Niall sticks his tongue down Zayn’s throat, and then it's just kind of like some weird voyeurism, and Harry really doesn’t appreciate that.

Turning his attention away from where the four of them are sitting-- only after sending a wide smile in Louis’ direction-- Harry turns back to the crowd with a wave. “Alright! This is my last song for tonight. I just wanted to thank everybody so much for coming out. I’m sure a bunch of you know this one as well, so feel free to sing along if you want. You’re more than welcome to. Actually, please do. Uh, it’s called Happily, and it’s written for someone who I love very much. So, yeah. I hope you enjoy it.”

A rowdy shout of, _“Stop rambling and fucking sing, Styles!”_ comes from the back of the pub, rising over the din, and Harry lets out a bright laugh, strumming quietly on his guitar.

“I’m working on it, yeah?” He calls out before taking and plucking away at his guitar to the familiar tune of his song. It's muscle memory at this point, and the lyrics are so ingrained in him that he barely pays attention to the song itself, and watches the members of the audience instead.

Most of them looked fairly interested, on some level, in his song, and Harry figures he’ll take that as a win.

When he strums out the last chord of the song, there's a loud round of applause. Grinning, Harry bows and steps down from the stage. He quickly packs his guitar up and puts it in the backroom before heading over to the bar to get another round of drinks for the lads.

“You were brilliant up there.”

Turning, Harry blinks in surprise at the sight of the man behind him, and he shrugs, grinning widely. “Thanks, mate.”

The man is dressed in a rather fancy manner for the pub they were in, but Harry brushes that thought off as the man starts speaking again. “You know, I’ve been looking for talent like you.”

And, well-- What?

“Um. I’m sorry, what... are you talking about?” Harry's sure the look on his face is pretty dumb, at this point, but he honestly can’t help it. He's really rather confused.

“I’m a talent scout,” is the calm response given to him. “I work in Nashville, Tennessee. The label I work for sent me over here to look for new talent. We need a few opening acts for some gigs over the summer, and if all that goes well, then we’d probably give you a record deal.”

He has to be dreaming, right? There's no way this is actually happening. A talent scout is talking to him. A talent scout from Nashville, one of the biggest music cities in the world. Harry actually feels a little faint.

“Um... What would... What would the job entail?” Harry hears himself croak out after a long minute. He sounds kind of dumb. This is why he lets Louis do all the talking. Really, he's hopeless by himself.

The man leans against the bar, smiling politely at him. “Well, you’d have to move to Nashville. You’d spend the summer travelling around Tennessee and doing performances. Probably as an opening act for some other bands. And if all that goes well, we’d most likely get you your own contract and have you release an album and go on tours of your own. Probably just across the states, but still.”

Holy _shit._

Harry’s breathing feels kind of shallow. This is... This is what he’s wanted for years. To be a real performer, to play his songs in front of a crowd bigger than thirty people. To go make an album, to go see the rest of the world.

“Do you have a business card?” Harry blurts out. “I can, uh. Just let me think about it and look over some stuff and I can call you later. If you, ah. Still want me to play for you guys and stuff.”

The man’s face lights up, and Harry starts shaking. He accepts the business card as it's handed to him, and blinks slowly as the man starts talking again, words blurring together, “We need a response by Tuesday, yeah? But other than that, take a few days and think about it and discuss everything with anyone you need to.”

“Sure,” Harry agrees quietly. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Harry looks away for a split second to pocket the business card, and when he looks back up the man is gone. Not that Harry's angry about that, really. He doubts he'd have known what to say if the man was still there staring at him and expecting something from him.

Shaking his head, he grabs the drinks from the counter, and makes his way over to the booth where Niall and Zayn are enthusiastically crawling all over each other and locking lips, where Liam is whining about Sophia being unable to come and spouting drunken poetry about how beautiful she is, and where Louis is waiting for him with his crinkly-eyed smile.

He has some things to think about, but it can wait until later.

_. . ._

Sunday mornings in their quaint little home are generally quite lazy, and it's maybe one of Harry’s favorite times of every week, just lying in bed for two hours later than they should, Louis’ arms wrapped around him or Louis lying on top of his chest.

“Louis.” He reaches out and pokes his fiance’s shoulder lightly, watching as Louis lifts his head a bit to stare at him.

“What is it, Haz?” Louis’ smile is so beautiful, so warm, and Harry wants to burrow under the blankets and never leave their bed. But how can he not take this opportunity, right? It's everything he’d wanted for years.

“I, um.” Harry wraps his arm tightly around Louis’ waist, pulling him close to his chest. “A talent scout came to talk to me last night at the pub.”

Louis goes still against him-- which is kind of odd, considering that Louis is the sort of person who never stops moving-- before he lets out a soft gasp and kisses are suddenly pressed to every inch of Harry’s face. “That’s _amazing_ , baby. I’m so proud of you!”

Harry laughs softly, unable to help but grin up at Louis and the expression of astonishment and pride that his fiance is wearing. “Thanks, Lou.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me earlier, you dick?” Louis asks, punching Harry’s shoulder.

Swallowing, Harry shrugs. “I, uh. If I want to do it I have to move, Louis.”

“Move... Move where?” Louis asks quietly, nose wrinkling. “Like... To London or something? We’re not that far out from there, you know. I wouldn’t mind.”

Shit. This is harder than he’d thought it would be.

“I’d have to move to Nashville, babe,” Harry whispers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Nashville, Tennessee. Like... In the States.”

Louis looks astonished, and it kind of breaks Harry’s heart just a bit. “Oh.” Louis laughs softly, but the sound isn’t the bright laugh Harry is so familiar with. It sounds kind of nervous, actually. Harry decides he hates it already. “I... You know I can’t follow you to the States, Hazza.”

Harry shakes his head, trailing his fingers along Louis’ cheekbones. “I would never ask you to do that, Louis. You know I wouldn’t.”

“No, I know,” Louis agrees. His expression is fond, but there's something else behind it, a kind of fear that Harry finds he dislikes. “I just... Um. You’d want to be long distance or something, then?” He sounds so uncertain, and it's such an unfamiliar sound in Louis’ voice that Harry almost hates himself for causing it. He just doesn’t know how he could possibly say no to this opportunity. Especially if Louis is willing to try and have a long distance relationship with him. It's not like he’d be in Nashville forever, right? Maybe a year or two at most.

“I mean...” Harry clears his throat. “If you’d be willing to do that then I’d love to try.” Fuck, this is so much to ask of Louis, isn’t it? “I know it’s so much to ask. I just don’t want to let this opportunity go, you know? I think I’d regret it if I didn’t try, but I’m not going to leave if it means we’d break up. I love you so much, Louis. I mean... Fuck, we’re engaged. I’m going to marry you one day, no matter what. I promised you that. I’d never go back on that.”

Louis’ lips are pressed against his own, the touch so gentle and soft, and Louis giggles his Happy Giggle. “I know you wouldn’t, love,” he agrees, and his eyes are alive with laughter, his smile as blinding as the sun, and Harry loves him like he’s never loved anyone else before. “It’s okay. I understand. If I were you I wouldn’t want to just say no to an opportunity to go after me dreams like that. I want you to go, Harry. You’ve always wanted to be a musician and be famous and everything and I want you to try. I would never let myself hold you back from that. So, yes. I’m... I’m willing to be in a long distance relationship with you so that you can do this. Of course I am.”

“You’re amazing,” Harry breathes.

“I know. I’m the best fiance you’ll ever have, so don’t you dare go looking for another.”

Harry jolts in surprise, his mouth falling open as he exclaims, “I would never!”

Louis is shaking as he tries to fight off his amusement, his crinkly-eyed grin breaking across his face. “The look on your face!”

Louis’ laughter is contagious, and soon Harry is shaking with it too, his face pressed against Louis’ shoulder. He presses wet little kisses up Louis’ shoulder and neck, grinning wickedly when Louis shudders against him, squawking about how Harry's tickling him.

His grin dies when Louis shoves him away, before he burst into another round of giggles.

“Don’t be a dick.” Louis has that look on his face, the soft fond one that worked so perfectly with his teasing smirk, and Harry melts against him a bit. “We can only have celebratory sex after you feed me, thank you very much.”

Harry pouts. “Can’t we go for a round before we go downstairs?”

Louis pokes his nose and slides from the bed. He doesn’t even bother to put on clothes, just grabs their duvet off the bed and wraps it around his shoulders. He looks dwarfed underneath it, small and adorable and so, so beautiful. “Absolutely not,” Louis declares, throwing his arms up briefly, causing the duvet to slip and reveal his entire body to the cold morning air. Harry may or may not lick his lips, which may or may not make him look like a total creep. “Because once we get started, we’re not going to stop for hours. It’s a celebration, right?”

Harry starts, staring at Louis for a very long few seconds before he grins. “Fuck, I love you,” he sighs.

“I love you too, Harold. Now get your arse up and make me breakfast!”

Laughing softly as he watches Louis run out of their room, Harry moves out of bed, shaking his head fondly.

He has the most perfect fiance in the world.

_._ _. ._

Nashville is warmer than Harry had thought it would be.

He probably should have looked up more about Nashville itself before he’d up and moved there, really, but it's too late now.

Sighing, briefly, Harry glances at the talent scout-- whose name is Jackson, he’d learned rather recently-- and then looks at the schedule in his hand. “So they want me to do the Midwest section of this group’s tour?”

Jackson nods easily, grinning widely at him. “Yeah, as their opener. The tour starts a bit further over in Kansas, and it’ll end up in Memphis, and you’ll have a three hour trip back to Nashville, then.”

Harry eyes the schedule carefully, trying to take it all in and understand every piece of it. “So the tour and then we’ll talk about a record deal, right?” He didn’t want to mess any of this up, after all. It's kind of a once in a lifetime opportunity, isn’t it?

“Of course,” Jackson agrees with a laugh. “We’ll see where it goes from there. You’ll be under contract with us and everything, but hopefully we’ll be able to get you a deal with a label in the UK too, so you can head back there, if you want to.”

“That sounds nice,” Harry nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I’d like to go back at, um, at some point.”

He doesn’t say that he’d like to go back as soon as possible, for fear of sounding ungrateful. Because he isn’t. Harry's so thankful for this opportunity that he wouldn't even be able to describe his feelings.

He just really misses Louis.

Harry doesn’t even care that he’s only been away for two days. He misses Louis. Already. It doesn’t matter. He always missed Louis whenever he's away from him, and Harry knows that the feeling won’t stop until he gets to run his fingers through Louis’ hair and feel their bodies pressed up together, Louis’ stomach framed by his hips.

“Of course,” Jackson agrees mildly. “Now, do you want to head inside? We want you to meet everyone before you’re off to Kansas to start the tour and everything.”

“Sure, yeah.” Harry nods, humming a bit. “I’d love to.”

_. . ._

Their first Skype call is on a Friday evening. Harry's finally reached Kansas and is spending his time in likely the nicest hotel room he’s ever seen. The bed is comfortable enough, so Harry had headed there quite early on, curling up on his side of the bed, leaving his computer where Louis would be if he was with him.

He answers the call when the bizarre tune starts up, and is greeted with the sight of Louis curled up in their bed, a big pout on his face. “Hey,” Harry whispers, reaching out to touch the screen. It's dumb, sure, but it's the closest he can get to touching Louis, so he's going to take it.

“Hey,” Louis chirps, his image moving a few seconds behind the words, and Harry snickers. “Where are you right now? That room looks fancy as fuck.”

Harry glances over his shoulder. “I’m in Kansas,” he offers, turning back to peer at the screen in front of him. Louis smiles up at him from it, and Harry wishes that he could kiss him. “I’m opening for the Midwest part of The Future is The Sound of Yesterday’s tour. We start in Kansas and end in Memphis, I think, and then I’ll be back in Nashville after.”

Louis' snickering, his hand pressed to his mouth to muffle the noise, and Harry arches an eyebrow. “I’m--” Louis cuts himself off with a bright laugh and shakes his head. “Sorry. That’s just the most awful hipster band name I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry grins widely, unable to help himself. “I almost cried when I heard it. I don’t know how anyone could ever come up with that and think it was actually a good idea.”

Louis' image is a bit blurry through the computer screen, and his movements are a little choppy, but he's there and he's laughing, and everything is okay. Just for that moment, at least.

“I miss you so much.”

Louis blinks, and then smiles. “I miss you too, Hazza.”

“It’s so fucking hot here. I miss the rain already.” He's rambling, kind of, but it can’t be helped. He just feels _lonely._

“Harry.” Louis' laughing softly, and Harry glances up at the screen to stare at him. “It’s going to be okay, babe. Just calm down, yeah?”

“Sorry,” Harry breathes. “I’m just-- It’s lonely, you know? I miss the lads and you. God, I miss you so much.”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” Louis’ voice is so soothing, and he is doing the sweater-paws thing again. Harry feels more relaxed just looking at him. “You’re going to go tour with that awful hipster band, and it’s going to be fucking amazing, and I’m going to be so sad that I can’t come see one of your shows everyday, yeah? And then you’re going to get a contract, and you’re going to become a massive star over in the States and here in the UK, and then you’re going to come home and keep making music, and we’ll get married and it’ll be amazing. I promise.”

Harry smiles, pressing his face into the pillow next to him. “I still want a Spring wedding,” he declares boldly.

“I would never dare take your Spring wedding from you,” Louis laughs, flicking the camera. “I’d never hear the fucking end of it, would I?”

“You can’t complain.” Harry grabs the computer screen and moves so it's lying on his chest. “I’ve already agreed to be Harry Tomlinson, after all.”

Louis laughs quietly. He seems to have shifted so he's lying on his stomach, peering into the camera with bright eyes. “You know you never had to agree to that, so don’t hold it over my head, you dick. We could very easily be Tomlinson-Styles or something.”

“Absolutely not. I’m going to be a Tomlinson.”

“You’re cute,” Louis blurts out, then, his smile tugging at his lips, his eyes glistening.

Harry grins. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Hazza.”

The gravity of those words is never really lost on Harry, and he takes a moment just to take them in, to hear them over and over again in the air, even though Louis has moved on to talk about something else. He'd always have this, at least. Louis beams at him from the computer screen as he chats about his students and what they’d done in class that day, and Harry feels the knots in his stomach ease.

It's okay.

Everything's going to be okay.

_. . ._

The tour moves faster than Harry had originally expected. It's like they're constantly moving, unable to stay still for more than two days.

And it's completely exhausting.

Sighing, Harry stumbles his way to the couch that's in his hotel room, not even willing to make it all the way to the bed. He doesn’t think he has the strength in him, at this point. His phone rings, suddenly, and Harry jolts upright a bit, frowning, before he realizes what time it is. He snatches up his phone quickly, swiping the accept call button, and beams when Louis’ face popped up on his screen.

Louis frowns at him, lips pursed, and said, “You look exhausted.”

“Hello to you too,” Harry laughs quietly, nose scrunching up.

“Sorry.” Louis’ expression brightens. “I get why you didn’t answer yesterday, now. You look like you’re dead on your feet, love.”

“I feel dead on my feet,” Harry croaks out. “And I’m so sorry about that. It won’t happen ever again, Lou, I promise.”

Louis’ face softens. He looks so (so, _so_ ) fond, and Harry feels warmth flood through him. “I’m holding you too that promise, Hazza.”

Harry couldn’t have bit back his smile even if he’d wanted to. “I’m glad. I’m going to do everything I can not to break it.”

“Maybe I should just go, babe,” Louis offers. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

A soft laugh leaves him and he shrugs, pulling himself to a sitting position. “I need to actually get to bed before I do that, you know. And I kind of want to fall asleep while talking to you. Is that weird?”

Louis still looks terribly fond, and his eyes are so bright. “That’s not weird at all, love. It’s actually pretty cute.”

“I’m adorable,” Harry agrees with a snort of laughter. He moves towards the bed, pulling his phone a bit closer to his face so he can quickly check it for notifications. There are a few texts from his family and the lads that he’d have to answer later, but there's also one from Jackson, asking to meet him tomorrow morning about another possible tour after he finished this one. “Fuck,” he groans.

Louis’ face is unpaused, now, and he stops complaining about how Harry pausing him had been _rude as all fuck_ , to frown. “Are you okay, Haz?”

“Sorry. It’s nothing. I’ve just got this stupid meeting I have to go to tomorrow morning, now. I thought I’d get to sleep in, since we’re not traveling, but I guess not.”

“Oh.” Louis sighs quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry shakes his head. He kicks his trousers off, pulls his silk shirt off, and slips under the covers of the hotel bed. “It’s okay, babe. I’ll just sleep on the tour bus or something.”

“That sounds so unpleasant.” Louis’ laugh is bright and infectious, as always. “Is the bus smelly?”

Harry snorts into his pillow. He turns the lights off in the room, slides the brightness on his phone all the way down, plugs it in, and lays it on the pillow next to him. “It’s disgusting, actually. I blame the hipsters I’m being forced to hang out with.”

That sends Louis into another ridiculously loud round of laughter. “You’re a fucking dork,” he replies affectionately. “Go to sleep, Haz, yeah? You bloody need it.”

Harry is too tired to even argue.

_. . ._

He hadn’t meant to do it, but he had.

Four weeks left in the tour, and Harry had done what he’d promised he wouldn’t do and had missed another call from Louis. And he feels _horrible_ about it.

Waking up to a text of _you promised_ from Louis and nothing more had been the worst thing in the world, after all, and Harry had wants to curl up in a dark corner as soon as he sees it.

_I’m so sorry. I forgot. Fuck. I’m an awful fiance._

_You’re fine. It’s okay. You’re busy, I understand._

_It’s not okay, Louis. You know it isn’t._

_It’s fine._

That's the worst part, maybe. Louis won’t blame him. Harry doesn’t know why, but Louis seems determined to not blame him, and it's painful because Harry knows that Louis' upset and it's entirely his fault.

_It won’t happen again_ , Harry messages back. Louis hasn’t responded because he's at work, but Harry simply settles into the bed he's spending the night in, staring at the message with a frown written across his lips.

Could he even really promise that?

_. . ._

Harry is completely and utterly exhausted.

It feels like it's been days since the last time he’s sat down for more than half an hour, much less the last time since he’s actually been able to have an actual breather. However, despite the chaos of his current schedule, there's something about all of it that's pleasing, something that made his stomach jump in excitement.

Currently, he's starfished out in the middle of his Memphis hotel bed, his eyes fluttering shut. It'll be nice to get some sleep. He feels as if he could probably sleep for a whole day, probably.

That is, at least, until his phone buzzes, a jaunty tune that he’d picked as his ringtone forever ago crackling out of the speakers. Groaning, Harry turns, snatching the phone from the bedside table, squinting against the brightness, but he pauses when he noticed the picture that's popped up on the lockscreen.

It's Louis calling him. (And, well-- Harry had almost forgotten how adorable the contact photo he had of Louis-- Louis, who had been curled up on the couch with his adorable glasses and massive sweater paws and had smiled sleepily at him-- is.)

A grin breaks across his face. Louis is calling him.

“Hey,” Harry says breathlessly as soon as he’d swiped to accept the call. “Baby. Hi.”

“Oh.”

That's all Louis said before the silence seems to stretch out between them, and Harry frowns. He's just confused, now.

“Um. Lou? Are you okay over there?”

Louis coughs, and his voice sounds so small when he replies, “Sorry. Just didn’t think you’d pick up.”

_That_ has Harry jerking upright, suddenly feeling not at all tired. “What?” His voice is a tad sharper than he’d intended it to be. “Why did you think I wouldn’t pick up?”

A tired sound is all that Louis offers him for a few seconds that feel like an eternity in hell. “You haven’t answered my calls in days, Harry.”

Oh. That's... That's bad. Louis hadn’t even called him by one of his many nicknames. _Shit._

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurts out. “I’m so bloody busy lately and I just--”

“I don’t want your excuses.” Louis’ voice has gone from tired and small to cold and tense within the span of a second, and the way it crackles over the speakers is no longer sad. Now it's just terrifying. “I don’t give a shit about whatever excuse you’re going to say, honestly.”

Okay. This is really, _really_ bad.

“Louis...”

“This is so stupid,” Louis chokes out, and Harry feels his guts twisting into knots. “I just-- this isn’t even working anymore, Harry. Why are we still trying?”

Harry’s at a loss for words, even though he's scrambling to think of _anything_ to say, and he wishes that Louis could be there to wrap his arms around him and curl into his back. He needs Louis there to keep him safe. The fact that he's been able to get enough sleep to get by without Louis in the same bed as him is honestly a miracle.

Louis has gone quiet again, and Harry finally breathes out a wary, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we barely even talk anymore, Haz.” Harry can just picture Louis, getting ready to go into school for the day, putting his contacts in and stumbling around the kitchen to get his tea and breakfast ready, making sure he had his lesson plans and graded papers, wearing one of Harry’s sweaters that looked ridiculously large on him, as he tries to have this serious phone call with him. “I’ve called you so many times in the past week and this is the first time you’ve actually picked up at all. We just-- Fuck, Harry. I love you. You _know_ I love you.” Nothing good ever starts out like that, and Harry is so fucked. “I adore you more than anything in the world. But I can’t keep doing this.”

Harry wishes he could see Louis’ face, right now.

“I can’t-- fuck, ow. Shit, what the fuck--” Harry doesn’t even know if he has the strength to ask Louis if he's okay or figure out what's happened. He's not sure if he can do anything right now. “-- I can’t keep sitting here waiting for you to call me back when I know you won’t. I can’t let myself wait around for you to want to to talk to me or to be not busy. I love you so fucking much and I always will, but this isn’t even a relationship at this point. You know that, right? The only thing I’ve heard from you in the past week is two texts about your show. I barely know what’s happening in your life, and you have no fucking idea what’s going on in mine. Like, fuck. Did you know that my mum had to take Daisy to the hospital and I took three days off work to go see them? Did you know that Niall and Zayn got fucking engaged? No. You had no fucking clue, did you?”

“Wh-What?” Harry’s voice is a whisper and he's shaking. He doesn't even remembered starting to shake, but he clearly did at some point. “What are you suggesting, then?”

Louis’ voice loses some of its bite, and Harry’s chest feels hollow. “I don’t fucking know what I want. I have to go, anyways. I can’t keep talking.”

“Lou, wait I--”

“I’ll talk to you later, Harry. Have a good night.”

The beep from the phone alerts him to the fact that Louis' hung up. Harry feels progressively more ill the longer he sits in bed, thinking about the phone call. And, fuck, Louis is right, Louis is _always_ right, but Harry doesn’t know what to do. He's doing so well in Nashville. At the rate he's going, picking up fans left and right, he’ll have a record deal signed and done in a few months, and he’ll be, like, proper famous and everything.

But, fuck. He’d never thought that fame would come at the price of losing Louis.

Jerking upright, Harry drops his phone on the bed and stumbles to go put on clothes. He needs a fucking drink, and he needs it now.

_. . ._

It had been a shitty idea to go out to a bar at two in the morning, but Harry knows he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. It at least sort of keeps his mind off of Louis and the worst phone call of his entire lifetime. Kind of. Well, it doesn’t really do much, but at least he's tipsy and on his way to drunk, at this point.

Besides, he doesn’t have anything to do tomorrow anyways. The band he’s been opening for is moving on to the next state on their tour, and Harry hasn’t picked up any other gigs, as of yet.

Harry downs the rest of his drink and sighs pitifully, staring blankly at the wood of the bar. Is it mahogany? It looks nice. Mahogany's a really pretty type of wood. Harry now definitely understands why Louis had told him that if they ever moved, their new home better have mahogany wood. Or, well, he’d said, _“if we ever leave this house, our new place better have fucking mahogany wood, because I’m so sick of this pale shit what the fuck,”_ during one of his rants, but Harry had just grinned. Louis gets like that sometimes, and it's adorable and lovely, while still being utterly terrifying.

_Louis._

“Fuck,” Harry groans, slumping downwards.

“You alright there, kid?” A kind voice asks. Harry lifts his head slightly, glancing at the man who's sitting next to him and shrugs wildly.

“No,” he replies. “I’m just... I think I fucked up.”

The man has kind eyes, which is maybe why Harry feels no shame in spilling his guts to this stranger. Maybe it's just because he's kind of really fucking drunk. He doubts he’ll ever really know.

“How so?” The man questions easily, his voice so bright and easygoing, and Harry clenches his eyes shut. He can't stand this anymore. Thinking about Louis fucking hurts. It feels as if his chest is being ripped apart, and all he can do is try not to cry.

He downs another drink before turning to the man next to him. “I came to Nashville to try and be a musician,” Harry says suddenly. “I’ve wanted that my whole life. And I thought... I thought everything would work out okay, but I...”

“You lost someone.”

Harry’s eyes widen as he turns to the man. “I love him,” he confirms, not entirely sure if the leaps his drunken mind keeps making are something the man can actually follow.

The man smiles, then, a look that's tinged with sorrow, but full of understanding. “You know, I came out here to Memphis to try and be a musician. I left my girlfriend behind, and I don’t think I’ve ever regretted anything more.”

“Did you love her?” Harry breathes out. His voice shook.

“I did,” the man confirms quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. “I loved her very much. But I left her behind, and we fell apart. She’s married to someone else now.”

All Harry can picture is Louis in the suit he’d spent weeks declaring he wanted to wear for their wedding, walking down the aisle to meet someone else, a different ring on his hand, his love for Harry long forgotten. A choked whimper escapes him.

“I... Uh, I--”

“Is it worth it?” The man questions. Harry freezes, his shoulders jerking to a stop, surprise flickering across his face. “Is being famous worth losing him? Would you give him up for it, or would you rather give everything up for him?”

Harry’s mouth is hanging wide open, and he doesn’t know what he's supposed to say.

The man continues, not even looking at him, “there are so many things you lose throughout life, kid. So many people that you stop talking to and don’t see ever again. Is he one of them?” The man finally turns, and his eyes are so intense that Harry feels himself shiver. “Do you think you could go the rest of your life without seeing him again? Would you be okay without him in your life? Because it looks like you’re going to lose him pretty soon, at this rate, and once he’s gone he won’t come back, kid. They never do.”

“I love him,” Harry repeats quietly.

And he does.

He loves Louis more than he’s ever loved anyone in the whole world. He's loved Louis from the moment they’d met, when he’d seen Louis smile like the sun in the middle of that disgustingly dirty and dark pub. He's loved Louis through all of their stupid fights about the house they wanted to buy together. He loves Louis’ eyes that remind him of the sky, Louis’ smile that makes his eyes crinkle. He loves the way the ring he’d given to Louis looks on his delicate fingers. He loves how Louis’ entire face lights up when he talks about the kids he teaches at secondary school. He loves Louis’ glasses and how soft they made him look, loves how Louis looks with sweater paws while wearing one of his shirts. He loves touching Louis, loves holding him, loves knowing him in the most intimate way. He loves that he knows everything about Louis, and that Louis knows everything about him.

Harry loves everything about Louis, really. He always has.

“I lost the woman I love,” the man returns, his voice just as soft. “Because I was so desperate for fame and money that I forgot myself, and forgot how much I cared for her. If you really love him, then go the fuck home, kid. Don’t let yourself lose him.”

Harry is _shaking._

He's going to lose Louis. Fuck. He can’t lose Louis. Harry has trouble sleeping in a bed that doesn’t have Louis in it as well. He has no idea how he'll survive if Louis just isn’t a part of his life anymore. Harry's meant to have Louis in his life. He's meant to have Louis next to him until the day he dies. He's going to be Harry fucking Tomlinson, after all. They’d _agreed_ on that, and Harry has no idea how he’d thought he could survive a day without talking to Louis.

“I love him. I need... I need to go home,” he blurts out, turning wide eyes to the man, who simply smiles kindly at him and nods. “Fuck.” Harry dumps a few bills on the bar and jerks out of his seat. He needs to pack. He needs to buy a plane ticket. “Um.” He turns to look at the man, then, eyes watering. A kind smile is all he receives in return. Harry has never been more thankful for a complete stranger’s existence in his entire life. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” he whispers, before he takes off out of the bar.

He needs to go home and hold Louis before he loses the chance to.

_. . ._

His plane lands at noon on a dreary, cold, kind of disgusting day in London.

Harry doesn’t think he’d ever been happier to see the rain.

Stumbling out of the airport, Harry finds himself pausing to breathe in the scent of the rain, his eyes fluttering closed. Everything's going to be okay. He's going to get Louis back because all he needs is Louis, and Harry would be a fucking fool if he ever lets the other go.

“Harry!” He turns at the sound of Liam’s voice, spotting the other waving from his car and sighs gratefully.

“Hey, mate. Thank you so much for doing this,” Harry says as he dumps his bags in the trunk of Liam’s car and swings into the passenger-side seat, relaxing against the soft leather and the feeling of it against his skin. Music echos quietly through the car, humming around them. Harry sits on his hands to stop them from shaking.

Liam glances over at him with a smile. “It’s no problem, really. I’m just glad you’re back. Running the bookstore by myself is kind of boring, you know? And Lou’s been miserable lately.”

Harry figures that Liam's saying that to make him feel better about coming back, but all he feels is guilt rolling through him. He had done that. He’d made Louis miserable, and the knowledge of that is honestly one of the worst things he's ever felt.

“I fucked up, Liam,” Harry mutters, fixing his stare in front of him. He watches a raindrop slide down the windshield. It's not that interesting, but it's better than crying in front of Liam. Liam probably would have no idea what to do. He doesn’t handle emotional breakdowns well. “I fucked up so badly. I... Fuck, Liam, I hurt Louis. _I_ did that.”

Liam is quiet as he drives, and Harry's about to turn away and wallow in his own misery when Liam offers, “Yeah. So go fix it already, you prick.”

Harry turns sharply, pushing his hair out of his eyes to stare at Liam. He feels hopeful and panicky all at once, and it's the oddest feeling he’d ever had. “You think he’ll still forgive me?”

“I know he will,” Liam answers. He looks serious, most of his attention focused on the road, but he glances over and gave Harry a small smile. “You just gave up everything you’ve said you wanted since we all first met for him. He’s honestly been in love with you since the day you two met. You’ve been together for almost five years with no problems until this. Why wouldn’t he?”

Liam's right, probably, Harry realizes with dizzying clarity, and he almost wants to cry. Louis would absolutely forgive him, even though he probably shouldn’t. Harry doesn’t deserve Louis. He’s never deserved Louis, but fuck it all if he isn’t going to try and make up for everything he’s ever done. He wants to deserve Louis. “How much longer?” He questions, suddenly, brow furrowing as he peers over at Liam.

“You’ll be home in like ten minutes, Haz. Louis doesn’t get home for a couple more hours.”

That really doesn’t make him feel any better, but Harry manages to restrain himself for the rest of the car ride, and when they finally reach his home, he gives Liam a massive hug before he grabs his bags.

Being back in his house is like finding peace, almost, and Harry feels himself relax. He doesn’t think he’s been this calm since before he’d stepped on the plane to Nashville. Sighing, Harry moves quickly. He dumps his bags in their room, too tired to take any of his clothes out, and grabs a banana before lying down on the couch. It's the best vantage point of the front door, so he’ll be able to see when Louis gets home.

And then he waits.

It feels like an eternity before he hears the familiar sound of a key in the lock, followed by the soft shuffling noise that Louis always makes with his feet when he's feeling impatient.

Harry wants to cry all over again. How could he have almost given this up?

Seeing Louis for the first time in months makes his chest ache with the need to touch him, but also puts him at peace, to some extent. Everything's going to be okay as long as he never let Louis out of his sight ever again. Louis doesn’t seem to notice him at first, just dumps his bag on the floor and goes to put his keys in the bowl that they keep on their picture table near the front door. Harry watches Louis freeze as he notices that there's already a set of keys in there.

“Louis,” he croaks out finally, and Louis whirls around. Harry’s vision blurs, tears spilling over before he can stop himself, and it looks like Louis' in a rather similar state.

“What-- What the fuck are you doing here?” Louis whispers, his voice wavering. Harry takes a hesitant step forwards. His stomach is in knots again.

“I came home,” Harry returns quietly. He ignores the way his voice is wobbling in favor of staring at Louis. “It... It wasn’t worth it. I’d rather lose the chance to be famous than lose you, Louis. I love you. I will always love you, Lou. You’re... You’re it for me, and I can’t lose you. Nothing is worth that.” Louis is still crying, but his face us all scrunched up, now, as if he's trying to stop the tears, and Harry has to use every ounce of self-control in him to stop himself from rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms. “I know I’ve been a right twat lately and fucked everything up, but I’m... I’m so, _so_ sorry, and I want to fix it. I’m here and I’m not leaving again. I’m so sorry.”

Before he can apologize more, Louis' moving and Harry tenses, bracing himself for whatever is about to come next. For all he knows, it could be a punch to the gut. But then Louis' in his arms, and Harry's home.

“I missed you so much,” Louis' whispering against Harry’s chest, his voice soft and rambly, tears wavering through his words. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even want to call you back because it felt like the end and I didn’t want everything to end. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry pulls back just enough to press his lips to Louis’ ever familiar pair, eyes closing to appreciate the warm pressure of their lips moving against each other.

“It’s okay,” Harry laughs softly, pressing soft kisses all over Louis’ face. His lips twitch into a wide grin when Louis giggles quietly. “We’re going to be okay, I promise, Lou.”

Louis stares up at him for a long minute, those clear blue eyes of his wide and searching, and Harry stills. He doesn’t know what Louis is looking for, but he lets him look anyways, not at all concerned anymore. They're going to be okay.

“If you ever go back to Nashville without me I’ll fucking murder you, Styles.”

Harry barks out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Louis’ tiny waist and clutching him close to his chest. “I’m never going to go anywhere without you ever again.” It's a promise, one that he would easily keep. Harry doesn’t want to be without Louis ever again.

“I should hope you can still go to work by yourself,” Louis chirps, and the wicked grin on his face is so familiar that Harry reaches out to touch it, his thumbs smudging the corner of Louis’ lips. It's a gentle touch, because Louis' the image of pure art, and Harry doesn’t want to accidentally ruin anything. Not again.

“I missed you so much,” Harry whispers. “I didn’t know what to do without you. I was so lost and alone.”

Louis tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, then, tugging at it lightly in the way he knows Harry adores, and presses their foreheads together. “I’m here,” he whispers.

And, really, that's all Harry has ever needed.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> comments and kudos would mean the world to me <3
> 
> there's a reboggable post [here](http://nauticalallusions.tumblr.com/post/136447827103/my-home-and-my-english-rose-by-jwdish98-rating) if you want to hit that up, and I'm also on tumblr as  nauticalallusions  if you want to pop over and say hi or anything! :)


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